The Toga of Knowledge
by ThisUserOverHere
Summary: The Doctor leaves his red-lined coat behind and dons the Toga of Knowledge. A familiar face appears, much to the embarrassment of our beloved Doctor...
1. Chapter 1

_This was quite an impromptu fanfic, so read this with the twelfth doctor in mind._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Dr Who or any character or element associated with Dr Who (if only, *sighs*)._

* * *

Toga of Knowledge

The planet of Ellimia. The third moon orbiting the twelfth sun in the Fenn galaxy. He always liked the numbers three and twelve for some reason. It had a nice ring to it. Or a very bad connotation, he still had to decide.

Either way, he liked Ellimia. The planet was once a hybrid between the natural phenomena of internal planetary energy and the genius of the Torina race. They somehow managed to locate the very source and used it to fuel every invention thinkable. There were, however, a few problems.

Firstly, the energy could only be harnessed by directly being in contact with the core of the planet. This led to the second problem: how to use a device without kilometres of cables stretching and tangling everywhere.

These two problems introduced the third and fatal flaw. Every Torinian was raised to become some sort of ambitious young engineer, or inventor or researcher, all for the sake of solving these three great problems of Ellimia, otherwise known as 'The Three Great Problems of Ellimia.

Unfortunately, the Torinians weren't as willing to get their seven fingered hands dirty as their ancestors, thus, generations of scholars and academics were born. Each one claimed to know the answer, but no one was willing to see if it will work.

And that's what he liked about Ellimia. Instead of roaring air traffic and pollution, the great cities of the planet were filled with a gentle people. People always on the quest for knowledge. To discover and to rediscover their purpose. The old ways of technology were put aside to usher in the new era of philosophy.

Sometimes, when the prospect of saving another planet, or galaxy or sun, became to much. He would direct the TARDIS here. He would don the traditional purple Toga of Knowledge, sit among the Torinians, and soak up the calm debates, word for word.

Today was one of those days. Feelings of memories plagued him, but the feelings of memories he can't remember, plagued him more. And! He was finally able to dump that annoying little bald man somewhere between Earth and the Helki Galaxy. So, in short, he felt drained, and ready for some stimulating company.

With gratitude, he directed the TARDIS to the small room prepared for him close to The Great Debate Chamber. The room was always kept vacant for his presence. There, he could rest, meditate and gather his thoughts before entering the assembly. Not that he needs any rest or meditation, of course, but this room was ideal to change into The Toga.

And what a ridiculous thing it was. The Toga of Knowledge was little more than a purple bathrobe, and a very short one at that too. He looked into a mirror, his bushy eyebrows frowning at his reflection. What a horrible piece of clothing. Luckily, his room had a door opening directly into the chamber, thus cancelling out the embarrassing walk through the food vendors in front of the building.

He always felt quite naked and cold in this stupid thing. Almost like the time when he first wore this face. That flimsy white night gown, fluttering in London's cold wind. What was he doing there? Ah yes, helping the lizard lady detective. His companion then-

His mind went blank. Another frustrating moment where her face hovered in the back of his mind, but he just can't reach it. He sighed and walked towards the door, pulling at the offending robe, trying to get it to at least cover his knobby knees. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Still trying to remember, he walked the few paces toward the arena-like chamber, deep in thought. As he approached his seat at the top of a dais, the murmurs of the assembly quieted. Ah yes, he thought, they feel a worthy opponent approaches.

He finally came to his seat, and without a thought, he greeted the elders in Torinian. He clapped his hands three times, pranced around in a little circle, shouted the custom greeting "LA LA LAAM!" and flopped down into his seat. Only when he didn't hear the traditional reply of "LAMA!", did he look up.

A multitude of shocked Torinians looked back at him. Correction. A multitude of shocked, _fully dressed_ , Torinians looked back at him. Fully dressed in black industrial gear and jumpsuits form the olden days of technology.

After a few minutes of the most awkward of silences he has ever endured, a figure stepped forward. She was much taller than the Torinians, as was he. Her black dress and black hair emphasized her pale skin and blood red lips. She looked at his wiry, scantily clad frame and gave a long whistle.

The Doctor sprang to his feet and angrily tried to keep his robe in place, his Scottish accent rumbling through the chamber, "MISSY!"

"My, my, my Doctor. You look _fine"_

* * *

 _I feel like Missy deserves her own series...mmmmm..._

 _Ideas?_


	2. Chapter 2

"Seize him!"

To his utter surprise, the Torinians pulled out weapons. All of them linked with cables to The Power.

Fortunately, this gave him some time to escape, since they had to unplug the cables as soon as they leave one room, only to plug it back in when they entered the next room.

He jumped from the dais, heading towards the nearest exit, this unfortunately being the exit leading directly into the food vendor's tent. The market's noise momentarily distracted him. Over the bleating of the Three Horned Ellim Cat-Goat and the friendly calls of vendors to shoppers, a horrible noise dominated the area.

The doctor frowned while sprinting towards through the tent. Anywhere else in the galaxy, the noise would have been quite natural. But here on the Planet of Ellimia, it shocked him to the core. As he entered the dome, he grabbed the nearest Torinian – which was a feat, since the Doctor was almost double their length – by the arm.

"Tell me! What era is this?"

The Torinian smiled at the funny tall man, "The Great Golden Era of Technology!"

The Doctor clapped his hands, "Of course! How could I not see this!"

He must have incorrectly calibrated the TARDIS. He was centuries too early for The Great Platinum Era of Wisdom. This explains the noise, a constant buzz of power coursing through the entire planet's cabling. This does not, however, explain the lack of creativity the Torinians have in choosing names.

He turned and sprinted deeper into the tent, hoping to lose his pursuers in the crowd. Not that it really helped, he was like a giant running through a crowd of dwarves. As he turned a corner, the Toga of Knowledge snagged on a piece of exposed pipe, catching the purple threads on its jagged edges.

"You fools! He's getting away!" Missy's shrill voice carried over the buzzing dim. She followed on a type of hovercraft, but not very fast, as the cables could only reach so far before it needed replacing.

The Doctor ran through the market, jumping over crates of naturally grown Vertine mussels, boxes of fresh Furn Ice vegetables and stacks of Persian carpets. The latter introduced from Earth to Ellimia by himself, but that's another story.

Vendors shouted prices for the exotic Fire lice (they apparently do wonders for ingrown toenails, a problem all Torinians face, having seven digits on each limb) and made bids on every type of food stuff imaginable.

If he ever finds himself here again with proper clothing and free of the threatening Torinian Armed Forces, he would buy himself a Quagrigon Juice Melon. It's by far the tastiest fruit he has ever encountered throughout his travels.

As he exited the tent, a stiff breeze made his hair stand on end. The problem was, that said hairs stood on his scrawny, pale thighs. With a curse, he looked down. Half of the Toga of Knowledge just managed to cover his modesty, the other half trailed in an unraveling purple mess behind him.

Not knowing quite what to do, he broke the purple strands free and ducked behind a huge door. To his amazement, the door led to a small dark corridor. He sank to his knees and started crawling. The doctor only crawled a few minutes when to his horror, a bright light lit the darkness from behind him.

"Oh Doctooorrrr…!" Missy's voice echoed in the tunnel, "As much as I love the view, I'd rather we speak face to face…"


	3. Chapter 3

_I really am enjoying myself with this story! *leaves reality for a few hours*_

* * *

"Pssssst!"

The Doctor swirled his head towards the sound. About five meters ahead of him, a trapdoor swung silently from the ceiling. With renewed strength, he began crawling.

The corridor and the trapdoor was just the right size to accommodate the average Torinian, unfortunately, the Doctor was no average Torinian. When the trapdoor was just above his head, he flopped onto his back, then slowly tried sitting up. He managed to wriggle his upper body into place, but soon discovered his arms were pinned to his side.

"No time!" the voice whispered harshly as he tried wriggling back down again.

"Well what do you propose I do?"

Hands grabbed his ears and chin, fingers tangled in his grey hair and someone gave him a bear hug from behind. He tried saying something, but the moment he opened his mouth, another pair of hands grabbed hold of his teeth and jaw. As a silent order was given, the hands started to pull.

"MMMPPPFFFF!" The Doctor cried out as a tuft of hair was pulled free, only for the hand to grab hold of another.

After several agonizing moments, the Doctor laid before his rescuers as the trapdoor seamlessly swung shut. He gasped for breath, checked to see if he still had ears and if said ears were still the same size, and looked up.

His eyebrows shot up, "Ah."

Instead of a multitude of rescuers with hands, he faced a rescuer – with a multitude of hands. The person in question was even smaller than the Torinians, but what he lacked in length, he made up in muscle and appearance. He had the physique of a body builder who wrestles sharks for a living and eats engine spare parts for breakfast. His multitude of hands grew from limbs all over his body, creating a ball-like effect. His bald head shone dully in the dim tunnel.

"Thank you, noble warrior." The Doctor bowed as low as the cramped space allowed him, "I have only heard of your race's splendor. This is indeed an honour to meet a Zeqell. I am The Doctor-"

The Zeqell grunted in return, "Yes, the Enemy of the She-Devil. You may call me Xaver," One of his hands helped the Doctor up, while the others turned on two torches - without cables. "Hurry."

The tunnel sloped downwards, twisting and turning. The air gradually became warmer, the walls of the tunnels damp and dripping. The Doctor respected Xaver's silence, bursting to ask more questions, but instead, marveled at the way he moved: switching between limbs like a centipede.

After many hours of almost running downhill, the endless tunnel opened into a large cavern. The sheer size of it took the Doctor's breath away. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of Zeqellians moved about between round hut-like buildings and brightly colored tents. Children ran in the streets after their mothers who in turn, called to their husbands tilling the soil stretching out as far as the eye can see. Their many limbs and hands making short of the work in sheer hours' stead of days. Large swarms of bird-like creatures filled the air with melodious song, while small primates chattered in strange vine-like trees. Pillars of stone reached up into darkness where small lights blinked, surrounding what seemed like a glowing yellow sun.

Xaver directed the Doctor to a large building in the middle of the city. Its walls a darker color than the surrounding huts. Every Zeqell that passed, bowed their heads in respect. As they came closer, he saw that the color was caused by hieroglyphs. Thousands of drawings depicting generations of Zeqellian history. A scene that looked the oldest showed how the Zeqell fought against some kind of triangular being, strangely resembling Missy.

"She brought you here."

"Yes." Xaver nodded as he entered the building. "Many brave ones were lost that day."

As the Doctor's eyes adjusted to the dim, a very familiar humming only he could hear greeted his ears. Well kept, but at least 70 years older, the TARDIS stood facing him.

The door opened and an old Zeqell stepped out. His old, gangly limbs kept a long, white beard from dragging on the floor. His old, wrinkled face beamed, "Da!"

Xaver's whole countenance changed, "My son! You're still alive!"

* * *

 _Any ideas for what should happen next? This is, after all, an impromptu fanfic...anything can happen...  
_ _*laughs sardonically*_


	4. Chapter 4

After a lengthy display of hands shaking, Xaver turned to The Doctor.

"My son, Xahg. He was Guardian while I was gone." He smiled proudly.

"Ahh," The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, "how long exactly have you been gone?"

They followed Xahg as he made his way to the TARDIS. He shuffled along a path, well-trodden and beaten down from thousands of trips from and to the blue square.

"My journey began in the 537th year of The Great Oppression, 65 years ago, I was but a young warrior then."

Xahg reached out a hand towards the TARDIS door and gave a weary smile. "It is now 78 years since we retrieved The Box."

"But that's impossible, we only walked for a few hours…", the Doctor said as he eyed Xahg suspiciously.

Xahg looked at the TARDIS like it's been his lifelong companion, "You of all people should know that time is a fickle thing, Enemy of the She-Devil.", and beckoned them inside.

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably and followed. He pulled the door closed and turned to face his home, his spacious abode, only to encounter the two Zeqell's many limbs around him. He found himself squished between the warrior race and two sides of an ordinary police box. He had just enough room to take a breath, unfortunately, the breath he took included the tip of Xahg's beard.

"Can we please…" he wiggled his face, trying to rid himself of the offensive silver strands tickling his nose, "…get out of…ah…the AH- box- TCHHOOO!"

The force of the sneeze drove the Doctor's head into the door where he bounced back into the several arms of the Zeqell. The momentum drove them through the flimsy cardboard walls of the makeshift TARDIS and onto the ground.

Feeling quite dazed but with what with the clearest sinuses he has ever had in all his lives, the Doctor looked up into the beauty of his real beloved TARDIS. Without a thought, he sprang up and pulled out the key, only to realize with a sinking heart that he was still wearing the ridiculous Toga of Knowledge. Luckily, he had the forethought to keep a key around his neck.

"Thank you for leading me to my TARDIS, oh noble Guardians. I am in your debt, and will rid you of the plague of Missy-"

"Tsk tsk, Doctor. That is no way to speak of an old friend."

He slowly turned around to see Missy holding a large container. Slowly she reached inside, pulling out what the Doctor identified as every type of glove and mitten imaginable, throwing it into the multitude of Zeqell crowding around her.

Men, women, children all reached out to catch tough leather working gloves, colorful knitted mittens, delicate lace lady gloves, gloves with and without fingertips, mittens with ribbons and bows. The once gentle people shouted and screamed at one another, pushing and shoving to get to a piece of clothing already torn and full of dust.

Missy smiled sweetly, "Anyone can be bought for the right price…".

Rage built up inside of the Doctor. Not of the betrayal of the Zeqell, but the utter humiliation that they are going through and her cruelty. Missy giggled, "Quite a… _hand_ some price, don't you think…"


End file.
